


A Tragedy in Three Months

by nyandesune



Category: ATV Cinematic Universe, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Constipation, F/F, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Rejection, Temporarily Unrequited Love, these fucking fruits i swear to god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:29:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29640951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyandesune/pseuds/nyandesune
Summary: Yuto has impeccably bad manners and impeccably bad timing.
Relationships: Nat Matveyev/Chiyoko Tsukiyama (background), Tsukiyama Yuto/Aleksander "Sascha" Litvin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	A Tragedy in Three Months

_ “What an idiotic statement.” _

_ Yuto allowed the silence to sit there, impatient, studying the undignified curves between the eyebrows of that silly, too tall, too loud, too brash Russian exchange student that had taken such a potent liking to him in their first week of being there. How stupid. _

_ “You  _ like _ me? You have  _ feelings _ for me?” he spat. “That is-- that is preposterous, to put it plainly. You are here to pursue an education and learn about the culture of another country; not to engage in petty high school romance. How ignorant do you have to be to, to--” _

_ Sascha, taller than him, shrunk. _

_ “--to think I even have time for that sort of thing when I am focused on other, more important endeavors? Such as my studies? In fact, you should consider following after me, since you’re clearly neglecting yours. Now move along, I hear you have to go to extra help with Mr. Nakamura.” _

\--

Three months later, Yuto regrets that interaction.

He doesn’t regret much. He regrets incorrect test answers, using soda over powder when baking with Chiyoko, regrets not smacking the shit out of his father after the divorce proceedings were finally over and his mom and the rest of them were free. He regrets not attending that last student council meeting because now, now all of the pastel-hued spring dance preparations that he had so painstakingly put together were ruined by the secretary’s disgusting love for gaudy gold.

Gold is a fall color. She has no taste.

But it looks nice on Sascha, he thinks. The gold rings around their earlobes compliment them well. He taps his pencil - mechanical, always sharp - against the cover of his notebook, his classic deadpan eyes following them as they walk down the hallway, slide open the doors to their classroom, and step into the room, about fifteen seconds before the bell rings.

They meet his gaze with glare and Yuto, smaller than them, resists the urge to shrink.

Interactions with Sascha outside of academic necessaries (handing out homework, filling them in on missed lessons, the occasional eraser drop-and-return) dropped in frequency following that failed confession by the cherry blossom tree in the back garden. He always had a feeling they were forced - after all, one could only “coincidentally” walk into a wall of muscle while turning a corner a few times before it got suspicious. The sound of “Oh, hey Class Prez!” paired with a sharp-toothed grin while they were wrestling with their brother for their silly bear themed hair tie was soon forgotten, and standing by the vending machine at lunch, it always felt like his left side was a little colder than usual.

(Sascha had begun opting to grab drinks from the convenience store that Nat told them about -- it had a wider selection anyway, and it was also free of apathetic, undeserving pricks.)

This newfound peace was a welcome development for a while. How nice it was to have a quiet conversation with Chiyoko walking through the gates, paying attention only to the clips askew in her hair and not being interrupted by someone frantically waving at him from behind her. It was nice to not have to pick up his things and listen to awkward remarks of “oops, haha, this keeps happening” while he was picking up his pens. It was nice.

For a while. The key phrase here was for a while.

And then it started feeling a little empty. Yuto convinced himself that this was just a symptom of falling out of a routine -- an unwelcome routine, yes, it was unwelcome, and he didn’t enjoy having his usual daily groove messed with time and time again by the same old antics. It was normal to feel a little disappointed to walk past a corner and find it all clear. It was normal to glance into one of the gym classes and not see a thick dark ponytail swinging from side to side during Coach Watanabe’s infamous death drills. It was normal to feel a little left out, a little bit lonely while he stood alone in front of the vending machines out back, no one next to him rambling about their newest choice in beverage while he input the code (D9) for his usual fruit tea.

Chiyoko was out with their cousin for lunch, yes? He wondered if they were there with them. He wondered if she was giggling over their little quips and little jabs at the cashier, offering to pay for their rice ball and getting a “No way, man,” in reply, wondered if they still put their hair up while they ate that sticky, spicy instant ramen that would always get all over their overgrown bangs if they weren’t pushed back.

Yuto wonders if he should still feel like something’s missing after three months.

But it’s too late then. It’s far too late by then. Sascha is leaving the week after next, the Sunday after Friday’s spring dance, and it was too late for him to pester them about not going alone so he could keep an eye on their antics, because no, no, they were going with the pretty girl they had been chatting up in Japanese History High Honors, and she was nice, and sweet, and kind, and Yuto is an asshole and a dickhead with no regard for basic human empathy or the value of just being polite when it actually matters. Because he doesn’t know when to shut up sometimes, and even though he’s a good person and people know that he’s good, he can be pretty freaking insufferable and that’s why he always ends up emotionally isolated like this. He should start figuring out how to be decent for once.

Chiyoko’s scoldings started to sound more like their mother’s everyday. And she was just as right as their mother always was. Hitting the truth so directly on the head that it hurt, and it hurt very much, and it hurt to the point that Yuto couldn’t finish his dinner at the table that night.

He is an asshole. It was time to accept it. It took seventeen long years, but now he understands.

And yet he still has the nerve to think there is any hope left for him and the Russian delinquent who he treated so poorly.

He recalls the few real coincidences they had. They were quite pleasant from what he remembers, but there’s one in particular that stands out to him. 

They were assigned cleaning duty together that day as he had filled in for a boy that claimed to have to leave for cram school earlier than usual, and well, if it was to further his academic career Yuto had no qualms with doing this favor for him. He was standing in front of the window, clapping together chalkboard erasers and trying not to inhale the dust that flew everywhere, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away from the fumes. The dust was getting all over his uniform, he could tell, and he wondered when the last time these erasers had actually been properly cleaned. He would have to check the log for that, and when he felt that he had done enough clapping, he opened his eyes and turned around to do just so, and--

He didn’t see the cleaning log first. He saw Sascha, bent over, hair in front of their face, swabbing the top of a desk with a wet wipe. Lips slightly parted, focused eyes methodically dragging the wipe until the entire surface was shiny, and they looked so-- they looked so good, they looked so pretty, handsome, God, he didn’t know what they would want to be called, but they looked better than they had before, for some bizarre reason that he couldn’t place his finger on. And they looked up, made eye contact, and grinned cheekily before turning away. Yuto’s heart skipped a beat.

He ignored that any of that ever happened. That was on the Wednesday of the first week that Sascha was there, and he paid no mind, but now? The things he wouldn’t give to share a moment like that again.

And, as previously stated, he has the nerve to believe there’s a smidgen of a possibility that that could happen.

It’s perfectly illogical, but very much still possible, right? Anything is possible, the future is unpredictable, he can’t tell what will happen if he looks behind him right now. He already went over this topic in the Calculus textbook last night; he isn’t missing anything. All he misses is them. So he-- he lets his pencil rest on the desk, nudges it so slightly with his pinky, and it rolls, rolls, not far enough -- another nudge -- and it rolls and it hits the ground with a  _ clack! _ that feels too loud, so loud even though it was probably nearly silent under the sound of the chalk scraping against the board and Mr. Sato’s overenthusiastic voice talking about the second limit. And Yuto turns in his seat, he bends over, leans his head down to pick it up, and his hair hangs around his face, shielding his eyes from those around him, and he hesitates.

This is it, right? This could be it. This could be like one of those scenes in those shoujos that he likes to read where the protagonist, after making a grave mistake, is suddenly rewarded with a God-given coincidence that blesses them with a happy ending. Anything is possible, right? Everything is impossible until it happens, right? If he looks up right now, if he looks towards the back end of the classroom, he could make eye contact with them and they could share a moment for even just a split second and he could be  _ satisfied _ , even without being with them at the dance or the next semester or the semester after that.

Just one more time. Once more would be enough. Please.

But when he picks his head up and glances over, he does make eye contact, he does, he does, but just like before, he’s met with a piercing glare that stabs him right in the chest.

Of course they figured it out. They wrote the book on this.

Yuto feels the burn of shame on his cheeks for the first time in years.

**Author's Note:**

> nah bc these bitches gay as hell LMFAOOOOOOOO
> 
> anyway my friend wrote a continuation 10 yrs later so look at it right here  
> anyway im @lnkjns on instagram if u wanna hear more abt these fruits :3c


End file.
